


Highway to Helvegr

by TozaBoma



Category: Supernatural, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brothers, Friendship, Gen, Helheimr | Hel (Realm), Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TozaBoma/pseuds/TozaBoma
Summary: A defeated Thor arrives in a parallel universe to drink away the loss of his brother. The Winchesters are no strangers to going to Hell for a brother; what's a little rescue trip to Asgardian Hel between drinking buddies?Set mid SPN S14 (no spoilers) and right after THAT death at the beginning of Avengers: Infinity War.Rated General for the occasional naughty word.





	1. Good Intentions

ONE:

Good Intentions

 

 

He plodded into the bar as if on autopilot, ignoring the musical noises coming from the lighted box in the corner of the room, and the chatting, laughing and shouting of the patrons. Reaching the actual bartop he plonked himself on a stool and relaxed until both his elbows were on the wooden surround.

“Hey handsome,” said an amused voice.

He looked up at a dark young man with a wide smile. “Hello.”

“What will it be?”

“Vengeance,” he growled.

“Uh - we don’t got that but we have like… Let me see.” He turned away to survey the bottles on the top shelf. “Well honey, we have Writer’s Tears, Unicorn Piss and… Sambuca.”

“What’s that one?” he asked, pointing to the end bottle.

“Oh that’s the expensive one,” he said, reaching up for it anyway. “It’s a joke whiskey, you know, like the Unicorn Piss. It’s called Tears of My Enemies.”

“Yes. That one. Give me the bottle.”

The bartender’s eyes flicked up and down him, cataloguing the scruffy jeans, the nondescript hoodie, the unkempt shag of hair - and the black eye patch. “You sure, sugar? I mean don’t get me wrong, you’re big and all, but… It’s got a kick to it.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll give you a taster first, ok? You see if you like it,” the bartender said. He poured out a shot and left it on the bar in front of his customer.

He snatched it up and sank it in one go. Then he paused to inspect the empty shot glass. “Not bad. Not… enough, but not bad.” He set down the glass and tipped a finger at the bottle. “Leave it.”

“If you say so,” the bartender said. He put it on the counter in front of him and turned to his left. “Oh, hi,” he said brightly. “Another handsome one. Anything I can get _you_ , you let me know.”

“Find the one drink you wouldn’t give your worst enemy, and make mine a double,” the new customer gruffed.

“You got it,” the bartender said, and turned away from the counter.

The original drinker ran a hand through his short hair and then picked up his bottle. He swivelled on the stool slightly and refilled the shot glass. “You look like a drinker. Would you care to try this? It’s really not bad,” he said, and held the glass out to the newcomer.

Shorter, younger, but no less sturdy, the new drinker looked at him for a few telling seconds. “What are you in for?”

“Family,” he said, still holding out the drink. “You?”

The man took it slowly, considering. “Same.” He tipped the drink back and winced as it burnt its way down his throat.

“Well?”

“It’s pretty good,” he managed.

“There is more where that came from,” he said. “After all, I have the night, and tomorrow, and tomorrow - because it’s all gone. And the worst thing is, I think it was my fault.”

The newcomer paused for a long moment. “Yeah, well… we all got our problems, don’t we?”

“What of yours? Do they include the end of the world, of your family?” he asked sourly.

His mouth hitched up at one side slightly, in a way that almost passed for a sad smile. “Ok you got me - what did you do? —If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “Although I fear it’s more of what I didn’t do.”

He sniffed, rubbed a hand over the end of his nose, and handed him the shot glass back. “Drink?”

“Oh my friend,” he said, “we shall drink tonight and tell our sad stories, and in the morning… perhaps they will not hurt so much that we cannot plot revenge upon the ones who have caused us so much pain.”

The newcomer looked him up and down. “Right,” he allowed.

He poured him another drink, then rapped on the wooden bar. “Barkeep,” he announced. “Another glass, please. My friend and I will share this bottle.”

“You got it, honey,” the bartender called, then appeared round the bar and handed him two whiskey glasses. “You let me know if you need food, ok? Kitchen’s open till late.”

“We have no need,” the man said grandly. “We have the fury and determination of revenge to keep us fed.”

“If you say so,” the bartender said. He looked at the new drinker and winked. “Good luck.” He turned away to serve other drinks, far down the bar area.

The two men sank another drink each, then appraised each other. “What’s your name, friend?” the first drinker asked.

“Dean.” He held out his hand. “Dean Winchester. You?”

“Donald Blake.” He reached across and shook his hand firmly. “Tell me, can we finish this bottle this evening?”

Dean looked around the bar, full of lively, happy people. Couples were sat close together, friends were laughing and joking, and a group of young men were celebrating what was clearly someone’s legal drinking age birthday by playing shot roulette. He glanced at his watch. “You know what? Screw it. Yeah, we can finish that bottle.”

“Excellent,” he beamed.

“Eventually I will have to drag myself home to my brother and explain why I left my car here.”

“Your brother,” he said sadly. “Be happy that you still have one.”

Dean studied him as he refilled the glasses. “You say that like it’s got something to do with why you’re in here.”

“It is, friend Dean,” he said. “It is indeed.”

“Is it something you can fix?”

“Let me begin at the start,” he said. They picked up their drinks and took cautious sips. “My brother. First of all, he’s adopted. But I didn’t know that until we were both well over a thousand years old, so by then it was too late to make a difference.”

“A thousand years old, huh?” Dean asked. “You speaking figuratively or literally?”

“Oh literally, I assure you,” he said. “I am not mortal, you see. I am of the Æsir, the race of beings who rule Asgard. Or rather, _did_ rule Asgard. It’s gone now.”

Dean frowned. “Like… Thor, right?”

“Aye, exactly like Thor.” He leant slightly closer, his voice going down to a conspiratorial whisper. “However I am travelling under a secret name, so that people do not _know_ I am Thor.” Sitting back again, his sipped his drink.

Dean froze. Then his head tilted. “You’re saying _you’re_ Thor? Like… god of thunder?”

He looked left and right, turning more to see with his one eye. “ _Sshh_. If mortals know who I am they get a bit… They ask me to write on things and take photos on their electronic call devices. I’m trying to ‘lay low’, as they say.”

“Right. But… here’s the thing,” Dean said slowly. “My brother and I… we killed you. A few years back. And a few other Norse gods. Like Loki, and—”

“I can assure you that you most certainly did not,” he scoffed. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

“ _Donald_ is right here, yeah,” Dean nodded. “But—”

“Ok, fine,” he huffed. He reached for the vacant shot glass, then held it out as if waiting for Dean to grasp it. But as Dean studied the glass, weighing up his options, his eyes flashed an intense white then blue colour. White-hot sparks jumped and crackled from his shoulder to his hand, until they leapt into the shot glass and fizzed and snapped in restrained power.

Dean just stared. Finally he swallowed, and the sparks petered out until the glass was again empty. “Right,” he said quietly. “What’s it like, where you’re from?”

“Not like here,” he said, putting the glass down and picking up the bottle again. He topped up their glasses. “It’s more colourful, for a start.”

“Yeah, Kansas is like that sometimes,” he said, still watching him with wary eyes. “So… who’s the president where you are?”

“Asgard doesn’t have presidents,” he said dismissively. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m getting the feeling you’re not from… my reality. Maybe… this is like… your world adjacent.”

He blinked. “Oh - like a parallel universe?” He mused for a second, then polished off all the whiskey in his glass. “Perhaps.”

“You here alone?” Dean asked gingerly. “Or… you got friends with you?”

“Just me,” he said. “After the battle of New York I had… friends. Mortals, like you. And then… so much has happened. I lost my mother, my father, my hammer… and now my brother.”

Dean frowned. “What battle of New York?”

“You didn’t have giant chitauri warships coming from the sky above your buildings in New York? The Avengers, here, stopping them and repelling their forces?”

“No,” Dean said slowly. “I would have noticed.”

“Then perhaps this really _is_ a parallel universe,” he said. He motioned to Dean’s glass. “Drink up, friend. We have a bottle and sad stories to get through. I haven’t yet told you of how my brother and my friends were killed, my people slaughtered, and the ship blown up around me, leaving me to drift in space - and how I got here.”

Dean sniffed, thought about it, and downed his whiskey. “Hand me that bottle.”

 

ooOoo

 

The rock was warm, uncomfortable, and definitely not his first choice. A soft _chaise-longue_ not being available, he had long ago come to terms with his second, third and fourth choices also being a dream away. As it was, the time spent with the indignity of nothing but harsh granite to park his otherworldly and royal behind was inconsequential compared to the company.

He looked at the creature to his left, currently talking about something to do with family, from what he could guess. He has ceased listening to the being what felt like several years ago, and yet, where there was no time, it was hard to say just how long he had managed to tune out the garrulous creature’s yapping.

He sighed. He ran his hands through his hair and leant his elbows on his knees. And then he dropped his face into his hands and, not for the first time, analysed where he had gone wrong.

“What do _you_ think?” the creature asked.

He didn’t move. “The illusion was perfect. I wasn’t even there,” he said. His voice sounded strange; dull, muffled, as if the air of Hel itself were trying to _sshh_ him into submission.

“What are you talking about?”

“How he managed to grab the illusion but also me at the same time… I don’t understand.” He dropped his hands and looked at the being. “It must have been the stones. That’s all I can think of.”

“Stones?”

His eyes ran over it, cataloging the six beady eyes in dark tones, the smooth, reptilian style head but the incongruously soft and fluffy round body. Three arms, overly long and with a few joints each, were facing forward and wrapped around knobbly knees bent up to the creature’s furry chest. It was staring at him as if he held the secrets of the universe. Which was not beyond the realms of possibility, he realised. “Magic stones. He had one or two or… I can’t remember,” he admitted. “One of them must have snapped me back to the illusion version. There’s no other way he could have touched me.”

“Bummer. I got an axe in the head,” the creature shrugged. “You? Sharp blade? Poison?”

“Broken neck,” he said, as if the words burnt his tongue. “Bastard. I’ll find him.”

“You aren’t leaving here,” the creature sniffed. “Some do, but they don’t, if you know what I mean.”

“This is just another place,” he said. He sat up straight. “And anyway, I don’t belong here.”

The creature gave a snuffled, gurgled laugh. “That’s what we all say.”

“No, I _literally_ don’t belong here,” he said. “I’m not from Asgard.”

“Well neither am I, but when you die I guess it depends on how it was done.” It paused, then nodded to someone walking past them. “See her? I reckon she’s human, from Dirt - Midgard, to you. She’s not supposed to be here. They have their own punishment afterlife place, so I heard.”

“Hmm.” He stood up slowly, dusting off the knees of his dark green leather trousers, then batting similar dusty flakes from his elbows. “Is it always this dirty here?”

“Never known it different,” it shrugged. “Where you going, anyway? You know this place cheats - moves the edges. You’ll just end up back here in a bit.”

“I am aware,” he bit out. “But I need to think. And plan.”

“Ok. You have fun with that.”

He looked down at the creature, then walked off.

 

ooOoo

 

“Dean. Dean - come on, man, wake up.”

“Mmmff.”

“Dean - _Dean_. Wake up.”

Dean opened a single eye and found exactly who he expected towering above him. “Sam,” he groaned. “What hit me?”

“I’m guessing whiskey, because you smell like you fell in it,” he said. “And who’s the guest in the library?”

“What?” Dean managed to get an arm under himself and found he was flat on his back on the crisis table of the bunker. He twisted his head around to make sure he was actually home. The chairs and the panels were all the same, tiny submarines and World War II battleships scattered around him on the lighted table top. “Oh.”

“Come on, get up,” Sam said. He stood back, folding his arms. “You went out last night on a beer run. I finished off those maps we were looking at, and when I was done I came in here to get coffee and found you passed out on the table. I left you there and went to bed.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“And there’s a man in the library. He’s… snoring.”

Dean pushed himself off the table but had to grab at Sam’s arm to keep himself upright. “Aw man,” he moaned, putting both hands to his head. “I was at a bar, on my way to the liquor store. And… Yeah. There was this dude - we ended up sharing a bottle of whiskey. I think.”

“Are you sure it was just one?” Sam asked critically.

Dean rubbed at his eyes. “I need coffee.”

“Yeah. I started up a fresh pot. You wake your friend.” He walked off.

Dean looked around blearily, then stumbled up the few stairs toward the bookshelves. In the chair in the corner was a tall, wide man in jeans and a hoodie, his arms crossed loosely as he snored for a gold medal. Dean ambled over and knocked his shoulder. “Hey, Donald - Thor - whatever your name is. Wake up, dude.”

He stirred, then lifted a hand and scrubbed at his one eye. His hand dropped and he spied the human. “Ah! Dean!” he cried happily.

“Keep it down,” Dean urged, one hand over his right ear. “Some of us have hangovers.”

“Ah yes - the mortal part of you, no doubt,” he said cheerfully. “Sit, Dean. We haven’t finished our stories. Tell me more of these monsters and vicious creatures you fight - and the many weapons you have in this wonderful place.”

Dean found himself a large wooden chair on the opposite side of the table to him, landing in it like he expected it to be made of feathers. He leant on the table for help, watching him. “What happened last night?”

“Ah, well you see you were telling me about Jack, your adopted son-type-person, and the trouble he seems to have got himself into in various parallel universes. And I was telling you about _my_ universe, and about my brother being killed by a planet-shredding purple monster.”

“Like Barney?”

“You said that last night - who is this Barney?”

“Never mind. So… where are we up to?”

“Uh… you were going to explain everything to your brother and then I could stay here for a week to lay low.”

“Right,” Dean nodded. He yawned, then scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Right. Let me think.”

“Uh - hi, hello,” said Sam, carrying three large mugs of something black and steaming into the room. He put one down in front of Dean, then one in front of the other man carefully, depositing his own on the end of the table closest to him.

Thor stood abruptly. “Sam!” he cried with glee, wrapping huge arms round him and hugging him. He lifted and Sam’s feet left the floor for a whopping three seconds before Thor let him down again.

Sam just froze, instinct telling him it may be the best way to get through a one-sided hug from someone possibly possessing of otherworldly power. “Uh - hi,” he managed.

He let him go and stood back. “So this is the brother you told me about. He seems very strong,” he nodded, clapping a hand to Sam’s arm amicably.

“Uh - thanks,” Sam said. “Sorry - who are you?”

“Introductions, yes,” he said. “I am Thor, and I met your brother in a bar last evening. We were commiserating. Family,” he nodded wisely.

“Thor?” Sam blurted.

“Another one,” Dean said, picking up the coffee and getting a whole mouthful in him. He swallowed and then let out a long, heartfelt sigh of satisfaction.

“Yes,” Thor said. “From a parallel universe. You have not had aliens or the battle of New York, and I have not had leviathans or human apocalypses.”

“Right,” Sam said. He found a chair and fell into it. Staring at Thor still, he sipped his coffee.

Thor stretched his arms out, then swung them round as he wandered to the bookcases to his right. “Nice place you have here. Very… bookish.” He noticed knives set into a display case and peered closer. “Very nice. Where are these from? Somewhere near… Svartalfheim, I’d guess from the curve and metals used.”

“Norway,” Dean said. “On Earth.”

“Ah.” He turned and put his hands in his jeans pockets. “So… I appreciate you letting me in here, and… everything.” He paused. “I… If I could stay for a short time, just to…”

“Uh yeah - about that,” Sam said. “I don’t know what my brother’s told you, but we don’t normally let people just—”

“Sam,” Dean said quietly - a little _too_ quietly.

Sam turned and watched him.

His eyes closed and he rubbed the palm of his left hand into one with determination. Then he squinted at Sam through his four-alarm headache. “His brother just died. Give him a few days.”

Sam looked over at Thor quickly. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s ok - you know, he’s been dead before,” Thor said with a smile, a little weak in its earnestness. Sam stared, he couldn’t help it, as all pretence at humour, at pleasantness drained from Thor’s face. “But… this time it feels like it might be true.” He looked at his boots. “He’s probably in Hel right now.”

Dean swallowed a large mouthful of coffee. “So you gonna get him out or what?”

Thor and Sam looked at him. And stared.

Dean’s gaze went from Thor to Sam and back again. “Well… you said he was your brother.”

“Yes,” said Thor faintly.

Dean shrugged. “When do we leave?”

 

 


	2. Ain’t That a Bitch

 

 

“Seriously, is there no-one in charge of this place?”

“Nope,” the creature said. “Guess that’s our punishment.”

“Hel isn’t supposed to be for punishment, it’s supposed to be for incarceration,” he snapped. “How can there _not_ be anyone in charge?”

The creature looked around the dusty, barren rocks. Beings of all kinds were wandering, lost, oblivious, across the empty igneous shelves that stretched for miles. “Well… I suppose they don’t need anyone in charge. I mean, where are we going to go?”

“Well _I’m_ going _some_ where. This is _not_ how my story is supposed to end.”

“You have a story? I don’t even have a name.”

“What?” he asked. “Why not?”

“It was stricken from the records. I was… not in-keeping with their ideas of acceptable people.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I fought The Man, and The Man won.”

He frowned for a long moment. “Well I’m not one for in-keeping with ideas of acceptable people either.”

“There’s literally no-one here to fight though,” the creature said. “What trouble could we get into here?”

“Watch and learn,” he bit out. He licked a finger, raised it to the imaginary breeze, and walked off.

The creature watched him disappear. “Keh’vn,” it finally said to itself. “Once upon a time my name was Keh’vn. But no-one cares.”

The swirling, dusty mists agreed.

 

ooOoo

 

“Ho - wait a minute,” Sam said hastily. “You’re talking about going into Hell to get a soul out?”

“Done it before,” Dean shrugged. “Right?”

“I appreciate the offer, my friends, but Hel is a place living mortals cannot go - it’s tricky enough for the Æsir to get in, never mind getting out again,” Thor said. “I fear my brother may be stuck there.”

“You said he was adopted,” Dean managed.

“He is,” Thor said, puzzled. “What does that have to do with—”

“Well if he ain’t your blood, then he’s not Ay-thingy, right?”

“Æsir,” Thor said. He began to smile, wagging a finger at him. “I see your point. However his parents - Laufey and Fárbauti - they were frost giants. Laufey was a goddess. He may not be Æsir, but he’s not like you mortal humans, either.”

“But if he’s not one of you then the rules don’t apply, right?” Dean asked, looking at Sam for some kind of confirmation. “We can go in, grab him, and bring him out,” Dean shrugged. “You two go back to your own universe and we get on with… things.”

Sam put down his coffee cup and grabbed Dean’s arm, yanking him to his feet. “Minute, please?” he asked nervously.

“Whatever,” Dean grumped, letting himself be led away from the room.

Thor looked at his boots, then went to the table and picked up the coffee cup still on his side of the table. He sniffed it suspiciously, then took a sip. Finding it surprisingly passable, he took another.

In the far corridor, Sam swung Dean around to face him to realise he was still rather bleary-eyed. “Dean, don’t take this the wrong way, but there are days you can function on a beer buzz or a hangover, and days you really can’t. This is one of the ones where you really _can’t_ ,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “You want to go to Hell and get his brother out? Do we even know what he did to get in there in the first place?”

Dean tipped his face up and pinned him with a look that, in many situations, had fooled numerous people into thinking he was a calm individual. “Tried to save his brother and the world. Sound familiar?”

Sam huffed, his gaze ranging around the corridor for a moment. It did its best to ignore him. His eyes went back to Dean. “Well how do we know this Thor guy is on the level? I mean he could be a trickster for all we know, who just _happened_ to be in that bar when you were there, who just _happened_ to have a family member in Hell, who just _happened_ to pick on the one person who would want to help him because it’s his brother.”

“I get it, ok?” Dean said irritably. “But… he’s harmless, man. And he’s lost. He’s… Look, he’s been beaten down pretty bad. He’s lost his mom, his father, some weapon thing, his home, everyone in it, his eye - and now his brother’s dead because he tried to stop some evil planet-killing dude from killing Thor and an entire population. And you want us to walk away?”

“That’s just it, Dean - we’re not into stopping ‘evil planet-killing dudes’ - since when has that been our gig?”

“Since when has that been our gig?” Dean prompted, surprised. “Since Lucifer. Since Leviathans. Since - I don’t know - everyone who’s ever tried to start an apocalypse and ruin _our_ entire planet.”

“Ok, say we try to help him - Cas and Jack are still out there. What if they need us while we’re helping this supposed god of thunder get his adopted brother back?”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Dean said wearily. “Look, I need more sleep and you need to go get my car from the bar. Oh, and speak to the guy, ok? Just hear what he has to say.”

“You want me to listen?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, Sam, I want you to listen. He sat there last night and told me a million stories - about him, about his brother, about their fights and armies and villains and entire planets - and - and - and all the stuff they’ve done together. After everything that’s happened to him his brother was all he had left of his life - and now he’s _dead_.” He paused, noticing Sam stand back a little way, his anger slipping from his shoulders to be replaced with realisation. “So just talk to him - talk to him for like five minutes, that’s all. Do that, and if you still think we should cut him loose, then we let him bunk here for a few nights then toss him out on his ear, ok?”

Sam folded his arms as his eyebrows rammed down and he hauled in a huge breath, that was then let out slowly with great malice of forethought.

“And don’t do that huff at me,” Dean added. “Just go finish your coffee, go to the bar and bring Baby back here, and let me sleep.” He reached up, hesitated, but then patted the side of his shoulder before walking off past him.

Sam stretched his neck left and right, shook his head slowly, and then turned and went back to the crisis table. He found Thor now sitting at the library table, his nose buried in the coffee mug. He walked over slowly. “Hey.”

“Sam,” he smiled. “I think Dean may be in need of more rest.”

“Yeah, you may be right,” he hedged. “What were you drinking last night?”

“Ah - good whiskey,” he said brightly. “Not as pungent as the moonshine on Sakaar and certainly not as strong as Asgard mead, but it did the trick. We began with Tears of My Enemies,” he grinned. “And when that ran out, we had an entire bottle of Unicorn’s Piss.”

Sam smiled, he couldn’t help it. “I see.”

“The bartender was most impressed we did not die,” he nodded happily.

“Right.” He sat slowly, then picked up his own coffee and sipped it. “So… about your brother.”

Thor sat forward, his smile disappearing. “You think he’s not worthy of being brought back.”

“It’s not that, it’s… Well. We don’t even know you.”

“No, you don’t,” Thor said. “I understand.”

It was quiet for a long moment. “Ok,” Sam sighed. “Do _you_ think he’s worthy of being brought back?”

“If you had asked me that a mere year ago, I would have said no,” he said quietly. “And even a few weeks ago? No again.” He sighed. “But he’s my brother. Despite everything, there’s that tiny thing that makes me think he can change. Despite all the times he’s tried to double-cross me, or derail my plans - and not counting all the times he’s stabbed me—”

“What?” Sam blurted, his face paling.

“It’s hard to explain - it’s a thing he does. This one time, he knew I liked snakes, and he turned himself into one and when I went to pick it up—”

“But you still think he’s worth bringing back?” Sam asked, incredulous.

“Well… yes,” Thor managed. “He came back for us. He didn’t have to, and I didn’t expect him to, but he came back for us. When Asgard was being destroyed. And… we had finally agreed on where he fit in, with the universe, with everything. It was all going to work out, finally. The lying, the deception, the collusion with people outside our family… All of that wouldn’t be necessary any more. It was all going to _work_.”

“Lying to his brother? Collusion with… people outside our family?” Sam mused.

“Oh - _my_ family, not yours,” Thor said with a wide smile. Then he sat back and sighed. “And then… everything was lost. The chance to repair all that, the chance for him to change, to rule Sakaar and be pretty good at it - and he _would_ be good at it. Everything was lost. Including him.”

Sam sat back. “He… Well. Sounds like… maybe we have something in common.”

Thor looked at him. “You and I?”

“Me and… your brother,” he managed, with distinct discomfort. He picked up his coffee and drained the mug.

“Loki? I don’t see it.”

“Oh there was a time,” Sam said quietly. “My brother and I… We’ve had some rough patches. But… in the end it’s always us, back at the beginning, on our side because we don’t have anyone else.”

“Then you understand why I can’t leave him there in Hel. It’s… not where he deserves to be.”

Sam’s eyes went to the table top in a screaming need to be alone with their discomfort.

Thor nodded, then sat back in the chair. He looked around. “Is there some way I can send a message to another realm here?”

“You mean like a parallel universe?”

“Yes. I should warn people - Thanos is on his way to destroy Midgard.”

“Who and where?”

Thor waved a palm at him. “You know what? Forget it. Bruce escaped, and he will tell them everything they need to know. And until I get my brother back, I have no interest in this fight.” He lifted his chin to eye the room as if he were very interested in the wall coverings. “I have lost… _everything_ I possibly could - I _have_ nothing more to lose.” He wet his lips before thinking something through. He looked at Sam. “And as you mortals would put it, I am running on smoke, nothing more.”

“Fumes,” Sam said with a tiny smile. “You’re running on fumes. I get _that_ , too. Look…” He stood up. “Why don’t you stay here, help me find a way to get your brother out. Dean’s sleeping off the rest of the whiskey, and I need to go collect his car. Then we’ll find a way to… I don’t know… go to Hell and back.”

Thor got to his feet with a slowness born of respect. “Thank you.”

“We don’t have him back yet.”

“Yet,” Thor nodded.

“I’ll get us more coffee.”

“Oh the black bean water. Yes - it’s quite refreshing. I’ll help you,” he said.

Sam smiled and walked off toward the kitchen. Thor followed.

 

ooOoo

 

“That’s right - just this way!” he called. He waved aimless souls toward him, then across to his right.

Behind him Keh’vn was extending its three long arms, helping him to corral the beings into the right place. “And you think this will make a difference?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Right.”

They channelled the lost souls into the semi-circular bite out of the rock face, forcing more and more of them into the tight space. They began to squash up against the rock, harder and harder, as more and more beings were crammed in behind them.

“What will this accomplish?” Keh’vn asked.

He smiled. “Either the rock will move, allowing everyone more room, or it will crumble, possibly showing us a way out.”

“What if it doesn’t do either?”

“It has to do _something_ ,” he snapped back. “I’ve tried everything else.”

There was a loud _pop_. Everyone squeezed into the concave area suddenly fell inward, as beings between them and rock disappeared.

“Hah! See!” he cried. “We’ve found a—”

Another _pop_ interrupted him; beings appeared between him and the crowd.

“What… just happened?” Keh’vn marvelled. “Did it just transport them from against the cliff face to the _back_ of the queue?”

He drew in a breath and gave such a huff that Keh’vn stepped away from him. “Bilgesnipe’s _balls_.”

And then he turned and stomped away.

Keh’vn looked back round at the beings now crowding each other but less aware of what was happening, if that were possible. It began to wave them back out. “Ok, this way, forget it, show’s over,” it called.

They wandered aimlessly away from the rock face.

 

ooOoo

 

“So get this,” Sam said, turning the large tome around on the table and shoving it over to Thor. “Apparently there’s a way in if you’re not of the Æsir - which means me and Dean go in, get your brother, and get out.”

“I must come with you,” Thor said. “He will not willingly follow you.”

“Even if he thinks we’re there to help him?”

“He will think you are lying, so he’ll double-cross you at the threshold. He will get out; you will not.”

“Well… What if we give him a message from you, one that he’ll know came _only_ from you?”

“Do you speak Asgardian?”

“Uh… do you?”

“Of course,” he said with a sunny smile. “I think I do a good job of Earth English but I don’t think you’ll have time to understand the complexities of Asgardian to convince him you’re on his side.”

“Why does it have to be in Asgardian?”

“It loses something in the translation.”

“Then… do you have something we can take with us?” Sam asked.

Thor thought for a long moment. “He might believe you if you had Mjölnir, but… it’s been destroyed, so… I don’t have anything else. I don’t even have my battle dress - these clothes I found in a Sanctuary building,” he shrugged.

“Oh,” Sam said quietly. He looked at the table. “So… we’re going to have to find a way for you to come with us, then.”

“I believe so.”

“Right.” He got up and went back to the bookshelves, starting to pore over the titles carefully.

Thor stood, wandering over to the shelves and standing next to him. “You know, when I went into that drinking establishment I had no idea I would find someone with my capacity for drink. Or the chance to rescue my brother.”

“I don’t think Dean expected to find a Norse god from another universe in there either.”

Thor smiled. “You are very accepting. Midgardians - Earth people - are usually harder to convince of my heritage.”

“Well we’ve seen a few things, met a few out of the ordinary people,” Sam mused.

“So Dean tells me - and he has told me about many wondrous acts you’ve both done. Is it true you actually seek out and kill creatures that try to eat mortals, too?”

“All the time,” he sighed. “It’s not always easy.”

“Ah. For mortals it’s the fear of death that keeps you grounded.”

“Not any more - at least not for me. I keep thinking, if I die, this time it might be for good.”

“This time?”

“Dean and I… we’ve died a few times each. Not counting Dean’s Tuesday.”

Thor looked at him for a long moment. “You are full of surprises,” he said, then clapped Sam on the back, nearly sending him into the bookcase nose-first. “We’ll find a way in and we’ll rescue Loki. And then we can _all_ share a beer before he and I depart this realm.”

“Great,” Sam managed.

 

ooOoo

 

He picked up the rock and inspected it, turning it in his palm, feeling the weight. And then he leant back as far as he could go and hurled it with all his strength.

His eyes tracked its arc through the orange-tinged, misty air. It sailed fast and true - until abruptly there was a _pop_ and it disappeared.

He frowned. He stared. He waited.

Suddenly another _pop_ was heard and the rock smacked down right by his left boot. He simply glared at it.

A sound made him slide a knife down his forearm, under the dark leather, to land in his right palm.

“Still trying to find a way out?”

He jerked the blade back into its hiding place and turned slowly, finding Keh’vn wandering up behind him. “Evidently.”

“Still nothing?”

“Evidently.”

“Ok.” It turned and began to walk away.

He whisked up the rock and flung it at the back of the creature’s head. It bounced off with a nasty _crack_.

“Ow!” it screeched. It flew round and pointed all three hands at him. “What was that for?”

“Just checking,” he said mildly.

“Checking what? That we can’t die in here? We’re already dead you _idiot!_ ”

He put his hands out in surrender. “My apologies, I’m sure,” he said, his voice like three fluid tonnes of honey.

“Crackpot,” it snapped, one hand rubbing its head.

“You haven’t seen them?”

It paused. “Who?”

“You know who.”

It rubbed with two hands, the third wiping down its face. “Yes. I know who. And I have seen many of them. I just choose to forget. Which is the opposite of what I normally do when I meet someone who actually _wants_ to talk to me.” Its hands dropped. “Do you know, in my village, people wouldn’t even stop to chat with me even though—”

“Yes - yes - I get it, you can stop now,” he interrupted.

It glared. And then it sagged and walked off.

His eyes narrowed and he swung round again to appraise the sky.

Another _pop_ , this time behind him. His head tilted in consternation. “I haven’t even thrown anything yet!”

“No-one’s saying you have.”

His eyes widened. He swept around. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Thor was standing in front of two other men. He grinned, racing forward and grabbing him by the shoulders. “Loki! We’ve come to get you out!”

Loki’s hands raised by themselves and he gripped Thor’s forearms. “You’re real.”

“Of course I’m real! My friends have found a way in - let’s go.”

“What?”

“We’re getting you out,” Thor grinned. “Come on! Quickly, before the portal collapses!”

Loki’s hands slipped free. “Oh then by all means - lead the way, _brother_.”

Thor nodded. He began to turn.

And then a white-hot, searing pain cut into his side. He dropped to his knees. “Aaarrrgh! You _brainless, petulant infant!_ ” he raged.

Sam quickly appeared next to him. He grabbed his arm to keep him still. “Don’t move - there’s a knife—”

“I know there’s a knife in me, Sam! It’s what he does! It’s what he _always_ does!” Thor roared. He sat back on his heels and grasped the hilt, simply yanking it free and dropping the short blade to the dirt.

Loki took a few steps back, watching with what, in anyone else, would qualify as nervousness.

“Nice,” Dean accused, advancing on him. “We come all this way to get you out and the _first_ thing you do is knife your own brother? What is _wrong_ with you?” he shouted.

Loki found the human a few inches from his own nose. He straightened up and squared his chin at him. “First of all, I don’t even know you, although you _seem_ Midgardian - you’re all the same, thinking you know everything before you open your mouths. And second, I’ve seen countless people from my past since I arrived here, each telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. The only one I haven’t seen is Thor, and now here he is, to make me believe I can escape this place. How fortuitous,” he snapped with blazing sarcasm. “Although I have to say the addition of two strange Midgardians is quite the twist.”

“You little—” Dean’s fist swept around. Loki blocked it easily and hurled his own fist.

Dean ducked. He feinted. He smashed Loki right across the face with a vicious right hook.

Loki went down faster than spaghetti from a tilted plate. He lay still.

Dean stepped back, massaging his hand and hissing. “Son of a bitch has a face made of rock,” he groaned. He looked around at Thor. “Can you walk?”

“Of course,” he said, putting his hands to the dirt. Sam grabbed his arm, helping him to his feet.

Dean bent down and dragged the unconscious Loki to a sitting position. It took a little juggling but he did successfully get him slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He nodded to Sam, who was still attempting to staunch the blood flowing from Thor’s side as they turned whence they’d come.

A loud _pop_ brought them all to a stop.

“ _Please_ tell me that wasn’t the portal closing,” Dean heaved.

“Uh… ok,” Sam said quietly.

Thor gave a great huff. “But it was.”

“Super,” Dean spat. “Just friggin’ super. _Now_ what are we supposed to do?”

 


	3. Mohammed’s Radio

 

 

Castiel opened the door to the bunker, gliding in and shutting it securely behind him. He came down the steps slowly and stopped by the crisis table. “Dean? Sam!”

Nothing moved.

He shrugged and went to the library table, finding books open at some strange spelling of ‘Hel’, and various spell ingredients strewn across the table. Reading a few words here and there, he shook his head and walked off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dean? Sam?”

He rounded the corner and found only washed-up cups on the drainer and empty beer bottles in the recycling bin. He went to what passed as a dining table and picked up three more empty mugs, with still-warm rings of coffee in the bottom. He put them down again.

“Well _I’m_ not doing the dishes,” he grumped, and walked out.

 

ooOoo

 

Dean hefted the unconscious Loki in a fireman’s lift, following Sam. He currently had Thor’s arm over his shoulder as they picked their way across a rock shelf of particularly nasty jagged edges. “Why are we going this way again?”

Sam looked over his shoulder at him, still trying to bolster the god of thunder and his steadily leaking ribs. “Because Thor thinks the barrier is thinner this way.”

“Swell. Y’know, this brother of yours ain’t as light as he looks,” Dean grumped.

“His mother was a frost giantess - a goddess. He’s… compact,” Thor allowed.

“You can say that again,” Dean muttered.

Something shifted on his shoulder - then again. Abruptly Loki was tumbling from his back - but he landed on his feet. He whisked hair out of his face and a tiny, shiny knife was in his hand before Dean could blink.

“Now, if it’s not too much to ask, what is going on here and who are you people?” Loki demanded, sounding out of breath.

Thor grasped at Sam to help himself turn. “You ungrateful little trouble-maker,” he hissed. “We came here to get you out - and now because of your trust issues we’re all trapped here! I hope you’re happy, brother!”

Loki glared at him for a long moment. Then he eyed Dean, and finally Sam. “What?”

“What? What?” Dean demanded. “It’s pretty clear, pal! We came here to get you and now we’re all stuck here because you just had to knife your brother! Which bit about ‘this is all your fault’ do you not get?”

The knife disappeared just as fast as it had arrived. Loki put both palms up slowly. “Are you saying you’re the real Thor?”

“Of course I am, moron!” he hurled. Then he hissed and clamped his hand tighter to his wound.

“How long have I been unconscious?” Loki asked gingerly.

“I don’t know - minutes? Maybe ten, twenty?” Dean hazarded. “Why?”

“Because he shouldn’t still be bleeding. He’s a god, he should pretty much heal up in that time,” Loki said, pointing to Thor’s side.

Sam appraised Thor’s face. “You ok, man?”

“Apparently not,” Thor said quietly. “It must be this place. It stops magic, heightened senses, everything.”

“How?” Dean asked.

“It’s Hel, you tiny-minded Midgardian,” Loki snapped.

“Hey, this tiny-minded Midgardian laid you out with one punch, and he’ll do it again if you keep trying to stop us and don’t start helping,” Dean shot back. “If you don’t have your god-powers in this place then you’re the same as me, capish? Don’t make me swing for you again.”

Loki smiled, rather like a shark that smells blood in the water. “Oh, I ‘capish’,” he said smoothly, his eyes dark with warning.

Dean glared at him for another moment before he looked over at Sam and Thor. “Can you wrap him up, Sam?”

“I can try,” Sam said, guiding Thor to sit on a lump of rock just taller than his knees.

Dean put his hands on his hips, surveying the rock face as far as he could see. “So what do we do now? We got no magic here, no portal-summoning ingredients, and no help.” He looked back at Loki. “You been here a while, right? So what have you already tried to get out of here?”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I’ve been trying to escape? This place is relatively peaceful, and no-one’s blamed me for anything yet. Well, until _you_ arrived.”

“Seriously?” Dean snapped. “Come on, spill. What hasn’t worked?”

Loki grinned, looking over at his brother. “I think I like this one. He reminds me of someone.”

Thor grunted something as Sam lifted his hoodie and t-shirt, finding the neat incision to his side. He yanked at the cotton to give him something to turn into a square, putting it against the cut and pushing. “Loki,” Thor managed, sounding out of breath, “do us all a favour and tell us what you know.”

Loki looked around, then backed up to another rock about knee-height. He sat himself down carefully. “I can tell you that this place is constantly shifting. The walls keep moving, so you can’t gauge how large it is.”

“Walls?” Sam asked. “Like where?”

“You can’t see them,” Loki said. “They seem to be invisible, but they’re just beyond every dead-end rock face, or just above your head - and probably a few feet beneath this ledge.”

“And you’ve tested them? All?” Dean asked.

Loki sent him a withering look. “I’ll skip the insults and just say yes.”

Dean looked up at the sky, then around as if searching the place for weapons. “What happens when you hit these ‘walls’?”

Loki stretched forward and picked up a rock. He hurled it uncomfortably close to Dean’s head. He jerked back but it whizzed past and carried on going. Until the sky around it went _pop_ and it disappeared. Barely half a second went by before another _pop_ sounded and the rock appeared to land near Dean’s boots. “There. That’s what happens,” Loki said. “I’ve tried the sky, the rocks, the drop-off over a cliff face - everywhere. It’s all the same. And if we keep walking in any direction, you come back to the same place. This place isn’t at all as it appears to be.”

Dean crouched and picked up the rock. He hefted it in his hand, testing the surface, it seemed. Then he dropped it and walked straight past Loki, his hand out. He kept going until suddenly he stopped, his hand against something. He spread his hand left, then right, a strange tingling feeling telling him he shouldn’t keep contact with the invisible wall for long. He pressed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Loki called.

Dean ignored him. He pressed harder. A thin film, some kind of translucent barrier, glowed around his hand. Abruptly his hand fell through and he staggered forward, his arm disappearing nearly up to his shoulder. He cried out in unexpected pain; he yanked back. He gripped his wrist as he backed right up and away from the wall.

“What did you do?” Loki demanded.

“What? I just pushed on the wall,” Dean gasped.

“No - when you press on the wall you fall through and get dropped back where you started,” he said irritably. “What did you _do?_ ”

“I pressed on it - I shoved. And it felt like it was on fire so I pulled it back,” Dean said. He looked back at the area, finding the wall was once again invisible.

“So when you tried it, you went through and got sent back to where you started,” Sam said. “But when Dean tried it, it tried to… what, burn you?”

“Yeah, I think,” Dean said. He turned his hand over slowly. “But I’m ok. I’m not marked or anything, man. No burns, no nothing. And it feels… ok.”

“Midgardians,” Thor said, his voice thick with pain. “You’re not of the higher of the nine realms - you’re made differently.”

Sam studied his face, pressing into the wound harder. “You ok?”

“No. It’s painful and it doesn’t appear to be stopping,” Thor growled.

“Oh let me see that,” Loki snapped dismissively. “Midgardian monkeys can’t even patch a simple scrape.”

Dean opened his mouth but Sam glanced at him, shaking his head. He got up slowly, letting Loki sit by his brother and check the wound as Sam wandered over to Dean. He put a hand on his arm and walked him a few more feet away. “It’s not good,” Sam said, his voice as low as it would go. “It won’t stop bleeding and I don’t know what happens with Norse gods - especially in this place - when that becomes a blood loss problem.”

“Ok,” Dean allowed, looking at his boots. “We keep him as safe as we can while we figure this out.” He paused, looking around. “You got any ideas, man? How do we get out of this one?”

Sam looked over at Thor and Loki. “I don’t know.”

Loki was squeezing the patch against his brother’s side, huffing in anger. “You shouldn’t have come,” he snapped.

“You’re welcome,” Thor grunted.

“You were fine on the outside, being king and about to get stuck into a big fight with your Avengers friends to help you. Why did you come here, of all places, knowing you probably wouldn’t get out again? Bored of being a ruler already, are we?”

Thor smiled somewhat wearily. “I came back for you, Loki. I have lost… too much. Over and over. I just… I just wanted something back. Something useful, and needed, and…” He sighed. “I wanted my brother back.”

“So this isn’t about helping me, this is about being able to say you got something back that was taken from you. I see.”

“Oh shut up,” Thor tutted. “I came here to get you. And now, because of you, here we are. Still.”

“Blame me all you want - you know, a part of me thinks that you only came here because you knew you’d get stuck, and then you could hound and blame me for eternity for it. Pathetic, brother - it’s sentimental and it’s all your own doing.”

Thor smiled, and slowly, inch by inch, it turned into a grin. “You’re welcome.”

Sam wandered further away, and Dean followed, his head tilted in thought. “So… You got any ideas?” Sam asked lightly.

“Well it looks to me like we’re stuck on a holodeck - the walls keep moving, keeping us in.”

“A holodeck?” Sam snorted.

“Hey, you got any better analogies then I’d love to hear them - once we’re out of here. But basically, yeah.” He huffed. “I vote we try pushing you or me through the wall. My hand went _through_ , Sam. I reckon one of us ‘Midgardians’ can get back to the bunker. Once we’re there, we get the spell together again and get the rest out.”

“We don’t know where we’d end up if we _did_ push through the wall. Why would it just let us out if this place is Hell?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t know. But… I’ll go. If it spits me out in the wrong place, at least you still have a shot at figuring this out. If it doesn’t, then… I saw you get the stuff together for the spell the first time, right? I can get it together again.”

“Dean… you could come out anywhere. Or not at all. If this place is Hell, then… what if it just burns you up as you try to escape? What if you actually don’t go anywhere at all?”

“And there’s the small matter of you not being from our realm,” Loki called over.

They turned and looked across the wide divide. The Winchesters shared a glance before they came back over. “Explain,” Dean said.

“You’re from another realm, yes? Not just Midgard, but _another_ Midgard,” he said casually.

“That’s what Thor reckons,” Sam allowed.

Loki smiled. “I can see the difference. A few hundred years of illusions makes it… easier to spot when things don’t match their surroundings. And you two do _not_ match the surroundings.”

“Yeah no shit,” Dean huffed. “So what does that change? Can we use that at all?”

“I don’t know,” Loki said. He pressed on the cotton over Thor’s wound, noticing the blood running over his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up at the two humans. “But I agree that we need to pool our resources and get out of here at our earliest convenience.”

Sam nodded. “You’ve tried all the walls, and you’ve tried all the planes you can and can’t see. What else can there be?”

“Every prison has a warden,” Dean reasoned. “So who’s in charge?”

“Apparently, no-one,” Loki said, with some frustration. “I’ve spoken to many souls here and they all claim that no-one is actually running anything.”

Sam frowned. “Then how does this place keep going?”

“Once you get in, you can’t get out. That’s how it keeps running,” Thor grunted.

“But who’s _checking_ that no-one’s getting out?” Sam asked slowly. He turned in a circle, with definite suspicion. “If this place is one room, one holodeck, then… how does it shift the walls to be wherever someone is trying to get out?”

“Magic,” Thor shrugged.

Sam frowned. “Tech. Think about it. Something here is watching every single prisoner, and when one of them looks like they’re trying to escape, it produces a wall, or a portal, to bounce them back.”

“As I said: magic,” Thor nodded.

“Algorithms,” Sam said. “You have to be going through the motions that are recognisable as escape tactics, and _then_ it produces a portal to send you back to where you started.”

“Yeah, so?” Dean asked.

“Well what’s another word for sending you back to where you started?” he smiled.

Dean shrugged. “I got nothing, Sam. Some of us got a little wasted last night and are trying hard to ignore a hangover.”

“Reset. It’s resetting your position in the surroundings. It’s putting you back at your most recent checkpoint.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed. “You mean this is like a game?”

“I think it’s programmed that way, yes,” Sam said. “And that means it can be hacked.”

“If I follow you correctly,” Loki said slowly, “do you mean that the spell that recognises when we’re trying to escape, and then bars us from doing so, can be subverted to suit our purposes?”

“Exactly that,” Sam said. “Except we call it ‘modding the game’s behaviour’.”

“Whatever you call it, how do we do it?” Loki asked.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“Well we can’t do anything from in here. We need… back-up. With a different skill-set.” Sam smiled suddenly. “We need Player Five to enter the game.”

Dean watched him, then slowly his face relaxed like it was melting in the sun. “Ooohhhh, right. We just have to hope he has his angel radio on.”

 

ooOoo

 

Castiel paused in the games room, finding a bottle of beer on the side of the pool table. He picked it up, found it half-empty, and frowned. “Unusual.” He set it down again and began to walk away, before his head tilted and he picked up speed. He went back to the crisis table and then leant on the surface. Pulling a mobile phone from his coat pocket, he pressed at numbers and let it ring.

After nearly a minute he gave up, pocketing the device again. He huffed.

Another circuit of the entire bunker convinced him that, one, he was alone, and two, he had no way to contact or verify the whereabouts of the missing hunters.

He pulled out a chair in the library room, deciding to have a think.

And then he looked straight up at the ceiling, thought very hard, and shook his head. He closed his eyes and listened.

“ _… a really big teddy bear, like one you get at the fairground, so that he’ll always…_ ”

“… _and then it’ll make sense. Just give it time_.”

“… _but I don’t care whose daughter she is, she’ll still awesome and she has a lightsabre_ …”

“… _off the cliff like that. It should have been him - I mean she basically kept the whole team together and kept them going_ …”

“… _and bring your angel powers, cos Thor’s hurt and we need you to bust out of this_ …”

“… _knows that. I mean one is a fully kitted-out naval ship with a complement of like two thousand, and the other is a smuggling ship the size of a Winnebago, man. If any spaceship is going to_ …”

He paused. He sat up straighter and tried again, homing in on the one familiar voice in the crowd.

“… _don’t even know if you can hear me, Cas. Look, just get here if you can, and make it quick. We need your angel powers and we need to get out of here ASAP. If you can’t_ …”

His eyes crashed open and he rose from the chair. Checking his pockets and then his various blades stashed about his person, he closed his eyes and again locked onto the voice.

In a blink, the library found itself empty.

It didn’t mind. It was used to it.

 

 


	4. Angel Express

 

 

Loki pressed harder on the cotton in Thor’s side, being careful to keep the concern from his smooth features. “And this help is coming soon, you say?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Dean said irritably. “I called. If he heard me he’ll be here. I just don’t know when.”

Thor looked past him. “Perhaps you can ask this fellow.”

Sam and Dean turned to find Castiel standing a few feet behind them. “Cas! Thank God,” Dean blurted.

“He had nothing to do with this,” Castiel grumped. “Where is this place? What have you done now?”

Loki looked up, a smile on his face, but Sam put his hands out in surrender. “Look, Thor came to us for help. We were here to pick up his brother, Loki—.” He paused to wave a hand out to the green-clothed man currently watching with amusement. “Then we were supposed to leave. The portal closed before we could get back - so we called you.”

“I see,” said Castiel, where clearly he did not. “And you want me to take everyone here _out_ of here. Back to the bunker?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “If you can. If not, then can you open a door or portal or something to anywhere on Earth? _Our_ Earth?”

Castiel frowned in confusion. “As opposed to which one?”

“ _Any_ one,” Loki said politely. “Forgive me, but you appear to be some kind of celestial being. Not a god, I think, but something with power. Are you able to transport us to their Midgard - their ‘Earth’?”

Castiel’s eyes went from Sam to Loki. He appraised him for a long moment. “They came here to get you out. Why?”

“My bother is overly sentimental,” Loki said offhand.

“He does not deserve to be in Hel,” Thor put in, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “Even though he is the most irritating, infuriating sibling you could have.”

The angel opened his mouth, then paused to look at first Sam, then Dean. His shoulders relaxed. “I understand,” he said. Then his eyes fell on Thor’s side. “I suggest we leave now,” he added. “That looks serious.”

“I’ve had worse,” Thor said.

“Oh please,” Loki scoffed. “You’re pretending you’re bending over through being tired, but really you’re—”

“Continue, brother, please,” Thor said with a wide, shark-like smile.

Loki sniffed and looked away.

“So how do we do this?” Dean asked, clapping his hands together and rubbing.

Castiel peered off into the distance past his head, then walked off. He stopped abruptly and put his hand out. It began to glow until Sam shielded his eyes, noticing Dean was doing the same. Castiel made his hand drop. “I cannot breach the wall and keep it open - my powers seem to be diminished here,” he announced. “There must be another way.”

“Like what?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, Dean; I just got here,” Castiel said tersely.

Sam put his hands on his hips. “Ok, alright - we can figure this out.”

“The magic will spit you back out when you started, even if you do manage to get through,” Loki said. “Probably.”

“Probably?” Dean asked. “We’re looking for something more concrete than ‘probably’.”

Castiel put a finger up. “Wait here.”

And he was gone.

Dean and Sam shared a look that negated any conversation at all on the subject of redundant remarks, especially lengthy sarcastic ones about their physical inability to leave.

Loki simply sniffed, pressing on Thor’s wound and ignoring the blood dribbling over his efforts.

“Seems like a decent fellow,” Thor muttered.

Loki snorted in contempt. “Everyone does.”

 

ooOoo

 

She sat, quite content to swing her long, wide legs over the edge of the bridge. Contemplating the freezing waters far below, she straightened her back and wondered if she should switch yet again to the colourful sky.

“Excuse me,” said a voice.

Her eyes widened. She thought for a long moment. And then her head turned to the right to see a tiny, worn-looking man in some kind of drab attire watching her. “Oh. Company.” She got up hastily, letting her knitted layers flow over her to lie straight. The rock of the bridge under each of her leather sandals shifted and swirled in adoration of her existence. “Yes?”

“Are you the one they call Móðguðr?”

She gaped. “Well… yes. Yes I am.” She paused. “How do you know my name and how in Hel did you say it right?”

He came a few steps closer, realising now that she was much, much taller than he had first thought. As his first shoe encountered the beginning of the bridge, it was deflected and he had to stand back again. “I asked.”

Her face fell into surprise until it reached the unexpected destination of appreciation. “Well then. What do they call you, welcome stranger?”

“Castiel,” he ventured. “I have come for your advice.”

“Me?” she gasped. “Advice? Are you sure?”

He looked around. “You are the bridge keeper, are you not?”

“Uh… yes.”

“And you are the only person who can grant entry to or exit from this realm?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then I _do_ need your advice.”

She looked round, taking her time. “Well…”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just…” She came forward, nearly to the edge of the bridge to see him better. He had to lean back and crane his neck as far as it would go to still keep her face in view, such was her height. “No-one ever _asks_ my advice,” she said. “They just… get sent here. And then no-one ever asks to come out again. I mean, I _can_ let anyone out if they ask, but… no-one has ever asked.”

He blinked. “I understand you have been here for millennia.”

“In mortal terms. However here, time is different.”

“But by yourself?”

Her shoulders sagged a little, as her hands went behind her back to tangle her fingers together. She looked at the shifting rock bridge beneath her sandals. “Yes.”

“As I understand it, you are also unable to cross the ends of the bridge.”

She didn’t look at him. “You understand a lot.” She paused. “And you are _not_ mortal.”

“No, I am not. We are alike, Móðguðr. We are both immortal and servants of deities. And we are both left to do our jobs without any help from our own kind.”

Her eyes stole over him, taking stock. “What advice do you seek?”

“I have four friends in Hel. Three of them are not dead, and two of _them_ are not of your realm. I ask for your advice on how I would arrange permission for them all to leave with me, back to the mortal realms.”

“Oh,” she managed, startled. “Well…” She turned away, her hands still tangled behind her, to pace a few feet away. The bridge under each footstep swirled and moved, causing Castiel to look down at it with interest. She came to a stop and swayed around to look at him. “I can just let them leave,” she said.

“How do I ask you for your permission? Is there a rite? A ceremony? What is the cost?” he asked quickly.

She put up a palm. “There is no special way to ask. You just need to say the words.” She paused. “But… while it is not… _required_ , I can… apply a cost, if I choose to.” She sniffed. “And I choose to.”

He nodded, waving his arms out. They fell back to his sides in resignation. “You have all the power here. What is the cost?”

She regarded him with critical intensity. “Let me explain.”

 

ooOoo

 

Loki tutted to himself, leaning his left elbow on his knee and his right hand still pressed the cotton in Thor’s side. “So much for the mortals’ help,” he muttered.

“Hey, at least we’re trying,” Dean argued.

Sam put a hand up to push him back. “Dean,” he managed. “What do you think Cas is up to?”

“Who knows, man,” Dean huffed, turning away and walking off.

“I am very grateful for your help,” Thor said, his voice strained. “You mortals had no real reason to help me, but you offered anyway. I think that’s why I like Midgardians.”

Sam gave a weak, polite smile.

“They _offered_ to come with you?” Loki asked, surprised.

“No, brother,” Thor said with a rueful smile, “Dean over there suggested it. He said if you’re my brother then I had to come and get you, because I told him you didn’t deserve to be here.”

“ _He_ did?” Loki asked, nodding toward Dean, who was reduced to pacing the rock ledge a good twenty feet behind Sam as if looking for something to kick.

“He did,” Thor said. “Sam here took some convincing, but as they’re brothers… I suppose it wouldn’t have taken much in the long run.”

Loki took a few moments to straighten up, looking Sam up and down. “And you’re the younger one?”

“How can you tell?” Sam smiled.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Experience.” He glanced at Thor, then his attention went back to Sam. “You seem more… emotionally resilient than your brother.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up as if they were made of rubber bands and Loki’s remark had fired them at the sky. “Don’t say that in front of him.”

Loki smiled, full of teeth and his eyes creased. “I see.” He looked past him to Dean. “You seem… average for a mortal. Dean looks like… he’s been places. Like your version of Hel. And… somewhere else. Some _when_ else.”

“You can see that?” Sam asked.

“He is the God of Mischief,” Thor said, a proud hand lifting and landing heavily on Loki’s shoulder. “He always sees more than he says, and he _always_ knows more than he sees.”

Loki’s mouth opened as if in retaliation, but as he looked at Thor he realised he did not have words. He noticed Sam was still watching him and looked up. “As he says. Illusions, deceptions, decoys… these are the things I am good at. Of course, you have to have an accurate assessment of someone in order to fool others. It pays to pay attention.”

“You mean… illusions?” Sam asked, interested.

Thor clapped his hand down on Loki’s shoulder before pointing the same hand up at Sam. “Show him.”

“I’m not a performing monkey,” he tutted.

“But you enjoy showing off. Go on, show him,” Thor grinned.

Loki glared at Thor, but something in the desperate smile of his brother told him that he needed something, anything, to distract him from the pain of a wound inflicted needlessly. He tilted his head up at Sam. “Ok.” A green blip began in the centre of Loki’s face. It rippled outward until Loki was gone - and Dean was sat in his place. “This do it for you?” came Dean’s voice.

Sam put a fist to his mouth and stood back. “Ho-ly—. Whoa.”

Loki/Dean grinned. “Impressive?”

“Very,” Sam nodded. He turned. “Hey Dean - look at this.”

His brother paused the quiet tirade coming from his mouth and looked over. “Son of a bitch,” he grunted, advancing on them all and looking down ostensibly at himself. “What the hell?”

“Convincing enough for you?” Loki/Dean asked.

“Stop that,” Dean demanded.

Loki put up a palm, and the green blip and ripple went over him in waves until Loki was again sat there. “Ta-da,” he said with a grin.

Thor chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

Dean looked round at Sam, then back at Loki. “Can you not do that with my face?”

Loki inclined his head.

“Can you not freak people out like that?” Dean demanded.

Loki shrugged.

Dean frowned. “Can you do other people?”

 

ooOoo

 

“That is not an unreasonable cost,” Castiel nodded. “I agree.”

“You do?” Móðguðr asked. “But do you understand the terms?”

“I understand.”

“And you would do that, for your friends, the mortals?”

“Well, two of them, yes. The other two I do not know.”

She frowned. “Then why do it for them?”

Castiel sighed in resignation, folding his hands in front of him. “Because my mortal friends want this to happen, and I trust their judgement in this. If they want the other two released, then it’s for a reason.”

Her face lit up. “Then ok - go find them. Come back to the exit side of the bridge and say the words.”

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head.

“Don’t thank me yet - you have agreed to pay the cost.”

“Yes, I have,” he said resolutely. “And I still thank you.”

She grinned, her hands coming together to clap in delight.

He nodded. He was gone.

 

ooOoo

 

“So I stabbed him in the face,” Dean shrugged.

“A good, quick death,” Thor nodded. “Nice.”

“I thought so,” Dean said, squishing his hand against the wound to Thor’s side. “I mean, job done, right?”

“Absolutely. Sometimes you just have kill a thing stone dead to clean things up.”

“Yeah, man,” Dean nodded. “Big fan of heads coming off, especially if it stops them coming back later.”

“Although the heart of mortals and most immortals also does the trick. There’s something about plunging your best blade directly into the heart of your enemy to really make sure they’re dead.”

Dean grinned. “That too.” He looked over at the two men talking some distance away. “You and him don’t get on, huh?”

“Sometimes,” Thor allowed. “When there is a war, or a skirmish, or… some drama or other. I mean, he’s usually the cause of it, but at least we kind of work toward the same goal in the end.”

“And when it’s quiet?”

“Oh he’s just the worst,” Thor groaned. “Obsessive, egotistical - do you know, this stabbing thing he does is literally to get attention?”

“What?”

“A long story. A thousand or so years ago, when he was young, he did it by accident - a simply error in judgement by a clumsy child. But I think the reaction of our parents changed him. I - the first in line to the throne as I thought, and leader in all things - was forgotten, other than a quick trip to the physician who only needed to bandage my hand. It was barely a scratch. But Odin, our father - his wrath was long and judgemental. But I think… I think that was what changed Loki.” He looked up to see Sam and Loki discussing something a good ten feet away, Sam’s arms coming out to indicate something of size during the story he was telling. Loki had his arms folded, one hand coming up to hold his chin in deep thought as he listened. “I think he was taught that day that bad behaviour was rewarded with attention from Odin. Our mother… she was different. She always supported us both equally, although I think sometimes she favoured Loki for his cunning wit and ability to think ahead.” He smiled to himself.

“Our mother died. For a long while. And Dad… he was around but… not a lot,” Dean said slowly. “Most of the time I was Sam’s only parent.” He gave a dismissive shake of the head. “You get used to it, but…”

“But it is a burden,” Thor sighed.

“Not like—”

“One you shoulder gladly, I see.”

Dean shrugged. “He’s my brother.”

“I understand,” Thor nodded. His eyes narrowed as he watched the other two men. “Sam seems quite the thinker.”

“He is,” Dean smiled.

Sam’s hands were dropping from the description of size. “No way,” he was saying.

Loki grinned. “How else do you get a six legged horse to fetch an emu from a dwarf?” he asked guilelessly. “In any event, I traded it for the jewelled key and the problem was solved.”

“Bold move,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“And yet, here I am,” Loki, said his hands out in display.

“Yeah - Hell,” Sam grinned.

“Temporarily.”

“You’re saying if we hadn’t happened to bump into your brother and hear his story, you would have found some other way to get out of here?”

“Remember who you’re talking to, Sam,” he smiled.

“Hmm.” He jumped as his eyes found something behind Loki’s left shoulder. “Cas.”

They all looked over.

“I have secured your release,” Castiel said.

“You what?” Dean asked. “How?”

“I spoke to the bridge keeper.”

“She’s a myth,” Loki snorted.

“Móðguðr is _not_ a myth,” Castiel countered. “I have spoken to her and all we have to do is get to the exit side of the bridge. I say the words and we can leave.”

Thor blinked. “That easily?”

Castiel paused for a moment, casting his eyes around the rock surface between himself and Thor. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go,” Dean marvelled. “Wait - where is this bridge? I thought Loki said if we kept walking we just came back to square one.”

“Normally, yes,” Castiel said. “However, I can take us to the bridge. I have been there, and taking us all there does not touch any walls.”

“You mean you can Angel Express us all to the exit lounge?” Dean grinned. “Awesome.”

Castiel nodded dismissively. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Loki said, one hand up. He turned to Castiel. “What was the penalty?”

“What penalty?” Sam asked, concerned.

“Aw _man_ ,” Dean groaned. “I knew there had to be a catch.”

“There is no ‘penalty’,” Castiel said. “Let’s go before your brother’s wound gets worse.”

Loki eyed him. Castiel simply gazed back at him with so much innocence Loki took a step back. “Alright,” he allowed quietly.

Castiel waved them all closer to him. Dean helped Thor to his feet, putting his arm over his shoulder to help him walk to stand in front of Castiel. Sam came closer, and even Loki appraised who was watching before advancing on the group.

“Are we all ready?” Castiel asked. There were nods and grunts of agreement. “Brace yourselves.”

They disappeared.

 

 


	5. Should You Need Us

 

 

Loki felt his boots smack into rock and stumbled to keep his balance. His hands out for the same reason, he froze to ascertain his relation to everything else in sight before formulating a plan.

Sam had fallen to his backside on the hard surface but seemed otherwise unscathed; Thor had fallen to his hands and knees; Dean was similarly positioned. Only Castiel was still on his feet, and seemed as though there were no reason to be otherwise.

The angel of the Lord looked across the rocks to Loki. “Oh,” was all he managed.

Loki’s reconnaissance had turned up rocks, rocks, and more rocks, all flattened into a large ledge that appeared to go nowhere - except for a neat line that separated it from a long rock bridge to his left. Steam, or some kind of orange vapour, was a very slight veil over the actual bridge itself. He stood straight and chucked a thumb at it. “Is that the way out?” he asked Castiel.

“It is,” he nodded.

Dean and Sam were already standing, dusting themselves down and getting their bearings. Thor was still climbing painfully to his feet.

Loki straightened up and pulled at the collar of his leathers to give his neck the illusion of more room. “Shall we?”

Castiel turned at once to the bridge, as Sam and Dean were pulling themselves together.

Loki went to his brother and helped him yank himself upright. “Try to look godly in front of the mortals,” he sighed.

Thor pulled his arm free. “Something that is so much easier when I’ve not been _stabbed_ ,” he snapped.

Loki put his hands up in surrender. “A fair point.” Thor followed him as they paced their way over to the three men already by the thin black line separating them from the bridge.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Móðguðr,” he called. “I have come to ask permission.”

Silence.

Sam and Dean exchanged a wary glance.

“Is there some kind of bell to ring, perchance?” Loki asked from behind them.

“Can it,” Dean hissed.

Castiel took a step toward the black line. “Móðguðr!” he called, his voice echoing despite the muggy, repressive air. “I have returned to ask you for exit!”

Sam squinted into the odd, dusty vapour hovering over the bridge. “Is that… a person?”

They _all_ squinted into the mists, and slowly they realised they were watching someone walking toward them.

Slowly.

_Very_ slowly.

“Come on,” Dean muttered. “Man, this is worse than _Lawrence of Arabia_.”

“Patience, Dean,” Thor said, then coughed. “Deities cannot be rushed.”

“Says you,” Loki said. “But you’re always jumping any queue to the bathroom after five pints of spiced mead.”

“Shut it,” he said politely.

The shape came closer - and they realised it was as tall as at least three Sams standing on each other’s shoulders.

“Whoa,” Dean managed, standing back.

“Castiel,” the woman said. She stopped on her side of the line, then crouched on one knee, her elbow on the other, to appraise them all. “These are the friends you spoke of?”

“They are,” he nodded. “I ask permission for them all to leave.”

“And you accept the cost?” she asked.

“I do,” Castiel nodded.

“Wait - what cost?” Dean asked hastily. “What is she talking about?”

“It is nothing, Dean,” Castiel said. “Merely a formality.”

“So what is it?” Sam asked. “If it’s nothing, then tell us.”

Castiel frowned. “Can we leave here first? Thor is injured.”

“Friend Castiel,” Thor began. He drew himself up. “I wish to know what cost you will bear before we leave here.”

Loki gave a big, toothy grin. “He’s joking,” he said hastily, waving a hand at Castiel. “Móðguðr - do we have your permission to cross the bridge?”

“You do,” she smiled.

Loki nodded. “Right then.” He stepped back and put his hands behind Thor. He shoved as hard as he could.

Thor was propelled over the line. He turned in an instant, injured or no. “You little—.” He attempted to rush his brother. But as he encountered the line he bounced off. He hit the invisible barrier so hard he was pushed flat on his back.

Without thinking Sam rushed over and began to help him up. He slipped with the weight of a demi-god, landing on the bridge.

“Damn it,” Dean hissed, rushing over the boundary to grab Thor’s other arm.

“None may return,” Móðguðr said simply. “Once you cross the line you are forever trapped on this bridge - unless you have my permission to exit the other end.”

“Loki!” Thor spluttered in rage, his face going red. “Get over this line, _now!_ ”

“But of course, brother,” he said with a maddeningly serene smile. He put a boot out.

Something small and red flashed into Loki’s back. It turned him into a ball of arms and legs, a red and green hamster wheel of fury and mishap that sped over the line and bowled straight into the Winchesters and Thor. Sam and the god of thunder went down in a blink, leaving Dean on his feet and looking completely confounded as to how.

Castiel looked up at Móðguðr as he crossed the line. “What is this?” he asked her.

“I know not,” she said, affronted. She rose to her feet and look down at the mortals and minor deities scrambling to get upright.

Sam and Dean again hefted Thor until he was standing in his boots. Castiel went to the growling, spitting lump of rage and simply plunged both hands in. He yanked and up came Loki by the back of his collar - and a creature with three arms, six eyes, and a veritable boatload of insults so cutting the air was turning blue, choking, and pleading for death.

“You!” Loki accused, wriggling frantically.

Castiel let go of him lest he lose his fingers. However he kept a tight hold of the creature in his left hand, now dangling two feet from the bridge by his neck. “Who are you?”

“It’s the creature with no name!” Loki spluttered. “You _imbecile!_ Do you realise you’re now trapped on this bridge?”

Keh’vn gave up. It put one of its three hands up and tapped gently at Castiel’s grip on the back of its neck. “Down, please,” it said with complete calm.

Castiel found himself letting go. Keh’vn bounced down to the rock of the bridge, clearing its throat and drawing itself up to its full height - which was still far lower than Castiel’s shoulder.

“Do you know this individual?” Castiel asked Loki.

“He won’t remember me,” Keh’vn said. “No-one does. Ask him.”

“I _did_ ,” Castiel said, confused.

“Of course I remember you,” Loki snapped. “All you did was yap and yap and yap whilst I was trying to find a way out.”

“And who helped you herd people into the rocks, or test the boundaries, or keep you company?” Keh’vn asked quietly.

Sam let go of Thor’s arm, knowing Dean had his other one. “Why don’t you have a name?” he asked.

Keh’vn looked at him as if witnessing a sunrise for the first time. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Sam said patiently.

“Oh, ah… Sorry. I’m not used to people realising I’m here.” It cleared its throat, looking back at Sam. “It was stricken from the records. But before that… It was Keh’vn.”

“Kevin?” Dean asked. “Your name’s Kevin?”

“Well the emphasis is on the _Keh_ , but yes, I suppose,” it nodded.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.

“I was in a battle for my homeland,” it began. “It all started when—”

“Yes, I’m sure it was worthy of a poem or a song or something,” Loki interrupted. “But can we do this on the other side of the exit?”

Móðguðr again crouched on one knee, her elbow on the raised one, to appraise Loki more closely. “Keh’vn does not have permission to leave this bridge,” she said.

“Oh well,” Loki shrugged with complete blasé abandon, and turned to go.

“Wait,” Castiel said. He walked around to Keh’vn, standing in front of it and folding his arms. “Why are you here?”

“As I said, there was a grand battle,” it said eagerly. “My family had all been slaughtered, and I was—”

“Dude, the short version,” Dean said irritably.

Keh’vn’s shoulders sagged. Its gaze went down to the bridge in shame. “I tried to fight. I wasn’t very good. I was killed.”

“How many people have _you_ killed?” Castiel asked.

Keh’vn looked up. “What? Oh, uh… well… none.”

“And how many laws have you broken?”

“Uh… two? I mean I used to drive faster than the permitted limit in my work vehicle, and sometimes I would use online currents to get hold of entertainment property that I hadn’t paid for, but—”

“Speeding and pirating TV shows are not grounds for being in Hell,” Dean scoffed. Sam turned his head and glared at him. “What?” Dean asked, surprised. “They’re not. Hey - don’t look at me like that. You never asked where the eleven seasons of _The X Files_ came from even though you _know_ the bunker doesn’t technically exist on the grid and therefore we can’t get cable.”

Sam’s eyes took a three-sixty journey round his sockets so fast it was a wonder they didn’t suffer whiplash.

Castiel turned to look up at Móðguðr. “Can we add Keh’vn to our agreement?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully. She raised herself to straighten up. “I am changing our agreement; you five may leave, and Castiel? Your cost is forfeit. Go, and do not return.”

He frowned. “But—”

“Go now. If I rescind my permission, you will all be trapped on this bridge for eternity.”

“Ok - bye,” Loki said instantly, waving a hand and walking off. He was already twenty feet away before Dean helped Thor to turn around. Sam and Castiel exchanged a long look, even as Dean and Thor hobbled after Loki.

“What happens to Keh’vn?” Sam asked.

“Sam,” Castiel warned.

But Keh’vn put a hand up. “I tried to escape - I tried to use your friend Loki to get out of here. I’m sorry,” it said. “Go - all of you. I’ll stay here and… I don’t know, be trapped on this bridge. I mean… It’s probably better than being in Hel itself… right?”

“Keh’vn… we’ll come back for you,” Sam said.

“No Sam, you won’t,” Móðguðr said. “It will stay here in place of any agreement I had with Castiel. You must all leave - now.”

Sam opened his mouth. Castiel waved a palm at him. “Sam - just go,” he said. “Don’t wait for me.”

“You _are_ coming though, right?” Sam asked.

“I am,” Castiel nodded. “Hurry. Help Thor.”

Sam gave a slow nod. He looked at Keh’vn. It nodded to him, and Sam inclined his head before taking off after his brother and the others.

Castiel looked up at Móðguðr. “ _How_ are you changing our agreement exactly?”

She smiled.

 

ooOoo

 

Solid grass hit the soles of Loki’s boots, making him stop abruptly. He whisked around to see nothing but dark orange coloured granite - and the rock bridge just inches from his boots. And yet the line that appeared to signify the end of the bridge also heralded the instant change to green grass that did not smell or look quite like the grass of Asgard.

Dean and Thor appeared next, followed by Sam and then Castiel.

The five of them paused to take stock; the bright blue sky, the cool wind, the smell of open, fresh, slightly damp Earth air.

“Kansas,” Dean heaved, altogether gratefully. He turned enough to catch sight of the Impala parked behind them, and then the door to the bunker, set into the hillside. “Baby,” he grinned.

Thor straightened slowly, feeling his side. “Thank you for your aid,” he said, freeing himself from Dean’s grip. Dean stood back, watching Thor as colour seemed to seep right back into his face, his posture telescoping up and out, his shoulders pulling back and his chin coming up.

“You ok, man?” Dean ventured.

“Much. I feel… like I’m going to heal just fine,” he said with a smile. “This is not the Midgard I know, but it _is_ Midgard.”

Loki looked around. “A new Midgard?” he mused. “Where no-one knows who we are?”

Thor pointed at him. “No,” he said sharply. “We are returning to our _own_ Midgard, Loki. Don’t go getting ideas.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Loki said, his hands out in surrender.

Sam turned to see Castiel walk closer to their group. “You made it - I was worried,” he blurted.

“Móðguðr has amended our agreement,” Castiel allowed.

“What _was_ the agreement?” Dean asked.

Castiel glanced at him, then found the grass extremely interesting. “We agreed that after you four were ferried out, I would return and… tell her stories.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “What stories?”

“ _Any_ stories,” Castiel said. “She has been alone for… aeons. And she needs company.”

“Oohh,” Sam realised. “So she’s keeping Keh’vn to hear his story?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “And when she has heard enough, she will give it permission to exit the bridge, back to its home.”

“Well that will take five minutes,” Loki scoffed. The others turned to look at him. “Oh, believe me, Keh’vn did _not_ have the most scintillating of lives.”

“To you, maybe,” Sam said politely. “But to someone who’s been starved of attention for millennia? It’s probably top-rated entertainment.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Pointless time-wasting.”

“Look at it this way,” Dean put in, glaring directly at Loki, “they’re both getting one hundred percent attention, to every little detail of their lives. But I guess you being a demi-god you wouldn’t appreciate the power of attention, right?”

Loki stared at him for a long moment. Then his eyes went to Thor as if on autopilot. “What now, brother? Where are _we_ headed?”

“Are you sticking with me, this time?” Thor asked. He swept a hand over his wounded side, but the bleeding had already stopped.

“Well Thanos is about to wipe out half of _our_ universe,” he said. “We could stay here, or we could go stop him.”

“And why would you want to do that?” Thor asked.

“Because Sakaar is _mine_ , and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him just kill off half of it like he owns the place,” Loki snapped.

Thor grinned. “That’s my brother,” he said, a proud lilt to his voice. He raised a hand and clapped it down on Dean’s shoulder. “You, Dean, can ask me for any favour you wish, should you need it.”

“Should I need it?” Dean asked, lost.

“And you, Sam - you too. You have both given me back my brother - for better or worse.”

Loki frowned. “Hey.”

Thor turned to Castiel. “If ever you tire of these Midgardians, then you are welcome in our universe, my friend.”

“Thor? Sorry - one question,” Sam said.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Well - how did you _get_ to our universe in the first place?” Sam asked. “Dean said he just found you in a bar. How did you get there?”

Thor smiled. “A friend. A friend who can use magic to traverse other realms, and likes to remain anonymous.”

Loki’s face sagged. “Oh no. Not _her_ ,” he heaved.

“Curiously, she was in favour when she found out _you_ were dead,” Thor grinned.

“Oh bilgesnipe’s _balls_ ,” Loki sighed. “Do you realise the favours we’ll have to do her to get back to our universe?”

Thor chuckled. “Oh I won’t be doing her any favours - given how fond of _you_ she’s always been. Even when she knew about you and that honour guard who hung around your place suspiciously late at night. What happened to him, anyway?”

“He died,” Loki snapped. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Thor said, his sarcastic smile wrapping almost right round his head. “How about… weasely-looking statues?”

“Ok we’re leaving,” Loki said politely, as if to Castiel.

“Right,” the angel said, with just a wisp of amusement.

Loki turned to Dean. “Good luck in this universe. Don’t let it die; it can’t be that bad.” His eyes went to Sam. “You - help him.”

“Uh - ok,” Sam said with complete cluelessness.

Loki waved a hand over his shoulder and began to walk away.

Thor put his hand out, clasping Castiel’s wrist tightly. “Thank you for everything,” he nodded.

“You’re… welcome,” Castiel managed.

He turned and put his hand out to Sam, similarly grasping his arm and clapping his other hand to their bond. “Thank you. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Uh - if we figure out how,” Sam grinned.

“Farewell.” He turned to Dean. “And you.” He put his hand out, but as Dean clasped it, Thor pulled until he had him in a bear hug. “Thank you for starting all this. I am indebted to you; I have my brother back.”

Dean patted his back. “I get it, man.”

Thor let him go and waved a hand at them all. “I’ll take my leave of you. Good hunting, and the gods bless you and keep you safe.” He added one final wave of his hand and turned to walk away.

The three of them stared after the pair, watching Thor catch Loki up and land a guiding hand on the shoulder nearest him. Eventually they disappeared over the ridge of grass that led to the main dirt road.

Dean slapped his hands together and rubbed. “So… beer?” he offered.

Sam scoffed in amusement. “Your hangover worn off?”

“Hair of the dog,” Dean shrugged. He looked at Castiel. “Beer?”

“Lots and lots of beer,” Castiel nodded.

Dean grinned. “What day is it?”

Sam looked at his watch. “Monday.”

“Right right,” Dean allowed, going to the door trying to pretend it wasn’t sticking out of the grass hillside sightly. He produced his key but paused. “So we been out all weekend?”

“Uh - yeah,” Sam realised.

“Right. Beer, pizza… and maybe some _X Files_.”

“What are ‘ex files’?” Castiel asked.

Sam laughed as Dean opened the door for them both. He watched them walk in, and then turned back to look over the grass to the dirt road.

A slight blue flare, a hazing of the air just out of view, made him wait and watch. It faded until he wasn’t even sure what he had seen.

“Dean? Phone - pizza!” came Sam’s voice from somewhere far beyond the door.

He shook his head. “Right - coming,” he allowed.

He went in. The door shut behind him.

And the rest was birds, sunshine, and peace.

 

**FIN**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap - thanks everyone for making it to the end, and I hope you gleaned some entertainment from it.  
> Still can't get an agent to take my original stuff so every visit to this page, whether people read the story or not, makes me feel like I should keep trying.  
> Thank you, you reading readers who read - it's all for you.


End file.
